


En Garde

by notenoughtogivebread



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s05e16 Tested, Fighting, M/M, Self-Recrimination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:25:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2015 prompt: Shift. Blaine before the fight in Tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	En Garde

He was pissed, that was it, pissed at Kurt for turning into this pillar of strength and cool. Yeah, he felt like he couldn’t catch up. What was worse was that he wasn’t sure he WANTED to. If being a man was being so—so _shut down,_ Blaine wasn’t sure he wanted it, any more than he wanted Dad’s version—smooth talk, hiding your real thoughts behind a professional smile and a firm handshake. It’s just—it felt like something had SHIFTED in their relationship, and he wasn’t all that sure he liked that either. 

NYADA was hard. People didn’t like him (he didn’t think a single person at that school liked _anyone_ ). Kurt could handle that, ignored it like he always ignored the awful people in life, giving as good snark as he got. And Blaine wanted to do the same, but it was just NOT how he worked. He needed people to—maybe not even LIKE him, but _value_ him at least. He tried everything, tried being nice to other students, joined clubs to meet new folks, make connections, but all his usual gambits didn’t work. And so he had no New York friends except the ones his high school friends had made. Mainly he was friends with Sam. Well, and the guys on the food trucks near school and at the little pocket park near the loft. 

And that was probably part of the problem. Not the people in the trucks _themselves,_ but the reason why he knew them so well. Food had become the enemy, he had to admit. Even with no plan to buy food, though, he found himself drawn to the park. Nothing like a friendly face to make some kind of dent in his loneliness. So when he jumped off the bus, instead of heading to Mercedes’ place or the loft, he dragged himself to that familiar little park. 

The first time he’d been here was on a fine spring day, that weekend he visited Kurt when he auditioned. New York had scared him then, but Kurt had been so sure of him, so sure that he could handle NYADA. Maybe he _should_ have gone to NYU or Fordham. Would he be happier? To say yes seemed to say he’d be happier without Kurt, and he flinched away from that thought. To say no, though, opened up a chasm of fear—that this is who he was now, that it wouldn’t get better. 

As he shoved his hands into his pockets, he found the apple he had grabbed for lunch. He stared down at it as though it held the answer. Stupid apple. It was a start—like the 15th start to a diet he’d made this semester, another attempt to get hold of himself. He hated the boy he saw in the mirror, so much NOT the New York sophisticate he thought he’d magically become. Instead, he was a pudgy, slow-witted boy who couldn’t best ANYONE in combat class. For Christ’s sake, he’d spent 5 years in the salle; fencing should STILL be second nature to him, shouldn’t it? But his balance, his speed, everything was off, and he took it out on Kurt. Typical. 

A burning wave of shame swept through him; he shouldn’t have taken his failure out on Kurt. He knew that underneath his anger, he was worried about his boyfriend, worried about stuff that had nothing to do with why Kurt was even putting up with his loser of a boyfriend. Okay, so maybe he was a little jealous of Kurt for handling New York better. But this tough guy act—this wasn’t _Kurt._ Or maybe it was; but it just wasn’t like the Kurt he knew to close _Blaine_ out. 

He slouched to his feet and turned to leave. He caught the eye of Manrique in the burrito truck, and shook his head. 

“Bad day, Blaine?” 

He leaned against the side of the truck, trying not to give in at the smell of frying peppers and seasoned beef. “Yeah. A—man, I fucked up royally and now I have to apologize—kind of bad day,” he replied, shuffling his feet in the dusty curbside grass. 

“My advice: No flowers. They’ll just get thrown in your face.” 

“Thanks, man. Guess I just have to own up to my mess.” He took a deep breath and pushed off toward the loft. He didn’t know what he’d say to Kurt, didn’t know where to start. He only knew he hated it when Kurt was angry with him. And maybe he hated even more when he was angry—at Kurt and himself, both.

**Author's Note:**

> This boy was so twisted up in his own head; how did we ever convince ourselves they were okay?


End file.
